thing to do with anybody I could believe in! I am a poor creature, Susan! I can remember the time when I felt above you; and now it seems too much for you to speak to such as me!"
It seemed a great relief to her to confess her faults; to retrace the past, and, looking through the dark way she had trodden, to catch now and then a glimpse of her early days. With a sprinkling of kind words from Susan, she went on as follows:—
"Oh, Susan Aikin, you that have an honest husband, and good children, and are content to be poor, you don't know the feelings of the fallen. Don't you think it's some excuse for me that I had such a poor bringing up? The first I can remember was my mother talking about my pretty eyes, and so on, and curling my hair; and the main thing was to get me handsome outside-things; how I used to despise your clothes and Lottie's; it was all, all of a piece. Mother said she could not afford to send me to the subscription-school; but, when that dancing-school was set up in Essex, I was sent to that. Do you remember I begged Uncle Phil to let you go, but he would not hear to it: he said 'you danced about your work, and you danced to school, and that was the dancing for poor folks.'"
"Father was right," said Susan, with a smile at the characteristic reply she had forgotten.
"Yes, he was indeed right. Uncle Phil was always reckoned simple-minded; but I have known all sorts of people, and I can tell you, Susan, that those who set their minds to do the right thing, be they ever so simple, go straight ahead—while
